She waved her hand to show she heard, but hurried off to put up the bunting.
Alden slumped on his seat of hay until Vandal approached, a clipboard in hand. “Alden, I know you aren’t crazy to do a one-on-one battle, but according to the schedule the committee gave me, there’s room for you if you wanted to do the triathlon duel, or the professional fight.”
“What are those?” he asked, pulling his attention from the miserable circumstances of his life. Although he wasn’t particularly thrilled to be in Vandal’s event, he had agreed to be a part of the big all-in melee battle.
“Triathlon is one versus one, three rounds, each round a minute and a half. First round you use long sword, second you use sword and buckler shield, and third you use your regular shield and sword.”
“That sounds painful,” Alden said.
“The professional fight might be more to your style. It’s three rounds also, but three minutes per round, and each contestant uses the same randomly picked weapon. Points are given for blows by your weapon, shield, fist, leg, and knee. You’re damned good with your fists, and I can show you a few leg moves this afternoon.”
“I’ll do that one,” Alden said after a moment’s thought. “But just so we’re clear that I’m doing this as a complete novice, and won’t be bringing your company any glory.”
“You don’t know until you try,” Vandal said, making a note on his schedule. “I’ll see you this evening, after the regular class is over, all right? Your friend Butcher has decided to form his own team, by the way.”
Alden made a noncommittal noise. “He’s hardly my friend, although I’m surprised he’s not fighting for you.”
“I asked him to, but he said I had enough people with you and the other students, and that he’d bring his own group.” Vandal shrugged. “So long as they pay the entrance fee, I don’t care.”
Alden found it difficult to be very interested in much of anything other than Mercy. He went through the motions for the rest of the day, helping with the decorations, moving equipment, and fashioning a temporary list where the melee fights would be held. By the timenight had come upon them, he was tired, but strangely distant from everyone.
Everyone but Mercy, that is. She seemed to thaw out his frozen heart like nothing else could, the warm, happy glow about her making him feel alive again.
“Aren’t you excited about tomorrow?” Mercy asked that evening when she was changing from her now somewhat ragged blue—but much beloved—archery dress into a new pair of jeans and shirt that she’d bought the day after the fire. “I am. Actually, I’m nervous as hell, especially since I’m the only archer for Fenice and Vandal. You’re doing two things, aren’t you? Fenice said Vandal sweet-talked you into doing another one, which will make Team Hard Day’s Knights look good. Oh lord, I hope I can hit the target. That’s all I ask—just hit the target and not shame myself.”
“You won’t shame anyone,” he told her, relishing the aura of light and love she brought into his life. Being near Mercy made him feel like he was bathed in golden sunshine, warm and happy and contented with life. It was only when she’d gone that he returned to an icy state of indifference. “I have just as much confidence in you as you claim to have in me.”
Mercy stopped trying to examine herself in the small hand mirror she’d set on a wardrobe shelf, and turned back to him. “Are you OK, Alden?”
He looked puzzled. “I’ve healed up quite nicely, a fact you should know, since you’ve examined me each night to make sure I was lovemaking-worthy.”
Slowly she approached, sitting next to him on the bed. “I meant that in more a metaphysical way. You seem... depressed.”
“I am depressed. My house and sole form of livelihoodhas just burned down,” he said, far more acid audible in his voice than made him comfortable. He cleared his throat and added, “There’s not a lot to be ecstatically happy about in my life, present company excepted.”
She watched him silently for a moment. “Is there anything I can do?”
He smiled. “Just love me.”
“That’s a given. I don’t suppose you’re in love with me, yet?”
He pursed his lips, and looked thoughtful.
“Honest to god, Alden, if I was as slow as you are, we’d never have gotten together.” She threw a hand towel at him, and stomped out of the room.
He caught it, his smile fading as she left, and a familiar sense of despair returned. She loved him—of that he was dead certain—but how on earth could he ask her to share his life now that he had nothing? How could he even admit to her that sometime over the past twenty days, he’d fallen as deeply in love as she had, when their life together would be fraught with stress and financial unhappiness? What sort of a man would he be to expect her to bind her life to his only to end up sharing his poverty?
“Dammit,” he swore to himself. “I’m going to have to take Barry’s offer.”
You can start anew,he told himself, washing his face and hands.You can use the money to buy a smaller house, one that isn’t so historical, and renovate that and then flip it. Mercy would like that.
Mercy liked Bestwood Hall. For that matter, so had he. If only there was a way he could rebuild without having to sell off any more land.
Dinner that evening was a lively affair, made moreso because the gatehouse was playing host to not just its regulars but also a handful of people present for the battle on the following day.
“This is Tamarind,” Fenice said, introducing a tall, elegant black woman who had bright red hair. “She’s a workmate who was in the area, so she thought she’d stop by to watch the proceedings tomorrow.”
“Too bad you’re not a fighter,” Vandal said, strolling up and giving Tamarind a clearly lascivious once-over. “If I told you that you have the body for it, would you hold it against me?”
